Winter
by Shadow's Whispers
Summary: The Underworld usually has no living visitors, and Death prefers it that way, especially with this strange premonition that soon, winter will not be the most feared season.


"C'mon, Sans! It's gonna be a HELLA awesome party!" Undyne shouted. She had burst into his private study with no warning – no messenger, no letter, not even a knock. He was mildly irritated, and would have been unbothered entirely had this been any other area of the Underworld. This, though, was his little hidey-hole, brightly lit and warm. A stark contrast to the rest of his domain. Many other times Undyne had arrived without a summons, so Sans figured he shouldn't have been surprised when four more hinges suddenly met an untimely end. Quite annoying, actually – now he was slightly more irritated.

Currently, Undyne was shouting about a party to be held up in the main realm of the gods later that evening, put on in honor of some god's glory or some such. As usual, Sans had been invited, and as usual he was planning on sending a gift in place of his presence. He wasn't much of a party goer – in most circumstances, Death in crowded places was unnerving and unwelcome. His work took precedence anyways, and souls always needed reaping – even if he stopped being so lazy when it came to his work, it would still stand in the way of social events. He leveled a flat look at the still raving Undyne, who was now lifting every piece of furniture in his study above her head. With one finger. Because why not?

"undyne," he said, effectively silencing her for a precious instant. "i'm not going. not interested, even if it is one _hell_ of a party."

The goddess twisted her lips at the pun but chose not to comment on it. "Sans! You HAVE to. Papyrus is going, and he and I are TOTALLY gonna blow the place down. Toriel is making buttloads of her pie and you know she doesn't do that often. It's gonna be a raging awesome party!"

She paused. "And it's for Alphys. There was a huge breakthrough in mathematics down in the mortal plane, right after a major medical discovery involving that weird cancer thing. It'll mean a lot to her if you, the one that told her to follow science as her calling, was there to celebrate." Undyne's voice was uncharacteristically soft – loud but not yelling for once. It gave Sans pause, and he tilted his head so his black cowl shrouded his eyes.

"…i'll think about it," was all he said. Undyne gave him a look filled with concern and annoyance, something he thought only his brother could do.

"You do that." Without another word, she left through his busted study doors, which Sans closed with a flick of his wrist. After a moment, he rose out of his chair and floated towards the top of his study, past towering bookcases and blue-flame candles. At the very top was a walkway, with a door leading outside. His bony feet touched down and carried him through the small door and to the edge of a sheer cliff. There, an unearthly breeze fluttered his dark tattered cloak, pushing the cowl away from his face to reveal somber sockets. A sigh escaped his teeth as he surveyed his domain – all the souls floating to their destinations, or suspended in place. Strange lights dotted the ceiling far above, while echo flowers lit the ground far below, and the souls filled in the gaps. These were the pure souls, most of which had gone willingly without the need for his help. Those that were touched, tainted, and corrupted were not milling about here; they were down in lower levels, working out their corruption.

This gloom, this house of death, where the songs of the dead echoed off the walls, was his home. It was tiring, thankless work, and something told him that soon, very soon (to the gods, at least), winter would not be the only season that left him drained and overworked. His skeletal features seemed to droop and he rubbed his sockets with balled fists. A nap was sorely needed, or a break.

"maybe i should go to that party," he said. "i've spent enough time down here. i'll work myself to the bone if i'm not careful." He chuckled to himself at his own joke, before turning back to his study. The party was starting to sound more and more inviting, but it had been so long since he had spoken to most of the gods and goddesses. And he was Death incarnate. Many of the immortals were wary of him, thinking him powerful enough to end their own existences. Sans was more skeptical – he highly doubted he was powerful enough to kill a god, and even if he was it certainly would take more than one touch. Still, it was enough to keep him away from most social events. No need to be the center of attention.

It had been so long since he had seen most of them. Would it really be that much trouble to go? Would they really avoid him? He tucked the cowl up around his head and he floated back towards his chair. One part of him preferred not to find out, and just hide in the Underworld like he did for every party. Another part reasoned that they would be too focused on Alphys' success to be wary of him, especially if he only spoke to a few of them. Then a third part, a darker part, found its voice. He was part of the immortals, sure, but he wasn't _really_ one of them. They represented things that mortals looked forward too, while he was only worshipped by the sick freaks of the world. Undyne was the only other one that had an inkling of what it was like, as war tended to draw out those vile mortals, the ones that always had a very high level of LOVE, and were always proud of it. Yet, she also represented peace. Such a strange duality, a balance that kept her sane, she would say. She had once told him that judgement – his other manifestation – was greatly honored amongst mortals – his own odd balance. That covered vengeance and sick, twisted thoughts, however, and Sans knew that, and so took no comfort from it.

Those darker thoughts had turned his sockets black, but he shrugged off the feeling. He would go, if only because he could not take another night fighting off those whispers. It would be far better to support and see his old friends. By the time he met his chair, he had decided to go, consequences be damned, and was penning a message to Undyne.

Another self-made winter of the mind was not what he needed right now, not with these strange premonitions plaguing him about summer.


End file.
